


Rub Off On Me

by WldCatSprStr_14



Series: Five Rings [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WldCatSprStr_14/pseuds/WldCatSprStr_14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll get close to Arthur any way he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rub Off On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Written for Day 21 of [](http://adventchallenge.livejournal.com/profile)[**adventchallenge**.](http://adventchallenge.livejournal.com/).

Percival has had his eye on Arthur since the first time Lancelot introduced them to each other, back when Arthur was a prince trying desperately to save his kingdom and Percival was just a wanderer, perfectly willing to trade his strength for a warm place to sleep at night. With no family left and no connections to speak of, the road was a lonely place and finding a companion in someone like Lancelot, easy to like and always willing to do his fair share, was a stroke of luck that Percival had made sure not to take for granted.

Finding a companion in someone like Lancelot, who had true friends in a prosperous city like Camelot and had given his allegiance to one of the most noble and undoubtedly the most beautiful man Percival had ever seen, a man who also happened to be a _prince_ and had offered them both hearth and home within the city, was an absolute godsend and Percival has worked every day to be worthy of it.

He has given every training session and every patrol his utmost, making the conscious effort to work harder than he’s ever worked at anything in his entire life, and all for the chance to be worthy of Arthur in the only way he can. Percival holds no illusions that he could ever be worthy of Arthur’s love. He may win Arthur’s esteem and his admiration for being a fine warrior but he can’t win from Arthur the kind of love that a man gives to someone he loves. No matter the degree of Percival’s devotion or how often he volunteers in order to prove his bravery and willingness to give his life for Arthur, there will always be someone for whom those actions means much more.

From the first days of their acquaintance, there has been no doubt in Percival’s mind that Merlin is the bravest and most loyal of them all. Anyone who spends even a short moment in the presence of the King and his manservant will see that Merlin is the only person in all of Camelot that can truly said to be Arthur’s friend, that he undoubtedly loves Arthur more than anyone else does, and that it is impossible not to see how fiercely the King returns his affections. Regardless of how it may look on the surface, every insult is laced with affection and every mocking gesture just proves how well they know each other. It would be impossible to compete with that.

So Percival doesn’t try. He just trains his hardest, leaves the field everyday drenched, aching, and on the verge of collapse, all for the nod of approval and the feel of Arthur’s hand clasping his shoulder. When he’s in his bed, Percival plays each touch over and over in his mind, rolling them around, teasing them and shaping them into something less noble, into something more urgent and sweaty and slick, something ends with him on his knees and the taste of Arthur on his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that the hand touching him is regal, golden, and bites his lips to bruising when, just for one split second, _it is_ and he spills hot and thick over his own fist. He never gets up right away, just lays there and let’s it soak in, because he’s sure that it’s as close as he’s ever going to get.

Which is why he staggers and has to sit down when Arthur comes to him with a request on the night before the Yule feast. Arthur is asking him to be with Merlin, to touch every part of Merlin that Arthur’s skin has already touched, to leave his sweat and slick all over the most important thing in Arthur’s life, and how could Percival ever refuse?

He’ll do what Arthur asks, let his hands trace the same paths that Arthur’s have traced, slip his fingers into the same soft places that Arthur’s tread every night, lick Merlin’s skin and imagine that he can still taste Arthur there, slip inside Merlin slow and sweet and leave the mark of himself buried so deep that he can imagine Arthur will taste it the next time he lets his tongue tread there.

~FIN~


End file.
